


Coming Home

by lemongays



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit of blood, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is a Failwolf, Frottage, Kid Fic, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Multi, Oblivious Stiles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Bonding, Past Character Death, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Puppy Piles (eventually), Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Build, Stiles Stilinski/Unspecified Female Character, Werebabies, Work In Progress, daddy!stiles, i am a kind god i promise, just a little, so is Stiles, takes place after 3a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemongays/pseuds/lemongays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, after leaving Beacon Hills to become a cop in Los Angeles when he was 19, returns when he's offered a job as a detective in his home town's police department 5 years later. He's welcomed with open arms by his friends and family, and hopes to integrate a special little girl into the McCall pack; Stiles' 3-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, moves with him back to the 'Hills so she can be trained by Scott to control her werewolf shift and have a real pack to grow up with.</p><p>((sorry if the summary is shit, you should totally read this!))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Is Where Your Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advanced for any mistakes, all of the chapters in this fic are unbeta'd and I only did minor corrections before posting; if you spot any, just tell me _nicely_ and I'll try my best to fix it as soon as possible! c:

My name is Stiles Stillinski and I hate my life.

 

In retrospect, I should’ve known that it would be easy getting out of Beacon Hills all those years back at a price. I rolled my head on the bunched-up muscles holding it up for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes and nearly sobbed when I felt one give a little; it _would_ take 6 hours with a screaming child with fabulous anger issues to get through traffic on a Friday the _one time_ I actually wanted to return to my childhood home after being gone for 4 years, I _really_ should’ve known better looking at my track record. Promise of becoming a detective at Beacon Hills Police Department and free werechild training or not, no one deserves this kind of hell.

 

I looked into the rearview mirror to check on my now thankfully sleeping cargo, whose little baby snores were beginning to make me want to fall asleep at this point too, while we were still stuck in this hellish traffic-nightmare before I eventually snap and turn on my sirens. Said snoozing passenger huffed a little, her face pinching for just a moment before relaxing in childhood car-sleeping bliss, and I almost gave into the temptation of slapping on that siren to get us to my dad’s house faster. I scrunched my eyes shut, face twisting, and tried to blink away my now building headache before sighing angrily.

 

Fuck it, she can sleep when we get to Dad’s.

 

I pulled my police siren from its jumbled position in the glove box and snapped it in its place at the center of my dashboard, flipping the switch to its right to engage the literal bells and whistles. Red and blue lights filled the cab of the Jeep and the siren began its loud chorus of _wee-woo, wee-woo_ , but then shit hit the fan; it first started out as sleepy little whines and whimpers from the back seat to full-blown screeches—goddamn, she sounded just like Lydia, _Jesus Christ’s Baby-Daddy_ —but now that we were finally whizzing down the median of the highway, I could almost start crying with my little terror in the back seat out of pure _joy_. It took 15 minutes to get to the exit I needed for Beacon Hills—once again, sobbing with joy here—and I finally turned off the siren to maybe appease the rapidly escalating temper tantrum in a car seat. She was literally howling she was crying so hard, and I felt like the jerk of the week watching her scream her little voice hoarse I decided to pull over to the side of the road. I pulled up next to the cheesy ‘ _Welcome to Beacon Hills!_ ’ sign, practically well into the familiar forest edge, before hopping out of the driver’s side and doing to guilty daddy-shuffle to the rear seats. I quietly opened the rear door, dodging an angry, flailing arm, and began to unfasten the screaming beast’s car seat, my heart sinking to the darkest, guiltiest pit in my stomach at seeing her blonde ringlets sticking to her wet, tear-stained cheeks. I ignored the overwhelming feeling of _home_ briefly, wanting to try and calm Elizabeth before the wrecked the Jeep’s interior. She clawed at my shirt and as soon as the wails started, I really _did_ become the jerk of the week.

 

“Hey now, pup, come ‘ere,” I began to softly coo, the tiny fist balled up in my t-shirt slowly loosening but the tears were still flowing freely—“Elizabeth, baby, you gotta _breath_ for a second, kiddo.” Elizabeth’s face was a sweltering, angry red, so I smoothed a hand down her back, trying to comfort her as much as I could, in hopes of maybe calming the big green beast inside. I knelt down, scenting her jaw and thick cheeks (just like Deaton told me to, he wasn’t _always_ cryptic and weird after all) to further combine my scent with hers. She hiccupped once, twice, sniffled, and then hiccupped once more before gulping in a shaky breath of air.

 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” I felt Elizabeth’s wet, runny nose press against the neckline of my shirt and inwardly cringed. I walked back up to the front of the Jeep to grab some mini-tissues for Elizabeth’s nose and maybe my phone to call my dad or, even better, Scott.

 

“Daddy, you never do that _again_.” Elizabeth was hiccupping and sniffling, so I nodded with her.

 

I dug around in the center console before finding a packet of tissues, jiggling one free from the packet with one hand, the other currently holding a dead-tired 3 year old werebaby, and held it up for Elizabeth to take.

 

“You’re right, pumpkin, that wasn’t very nice of me and I’m—”

 

“ _No_ ,” her voice was shrill and she looked up at my face while she grabbed at my shirt again, “ _you_ need to promise _me_ that you will _never_ turn on the lights _ever again_.” Her eyes were wide and she was still sniffling, her nose running, but her face was just _so serious_.

 

“Yeah,” Elizabeth relaxed a little at that, but her chest still heaving from her tantrum earlier, “Yeah, okay, I promise; now can you please blow your nose while I call Uncle Scott?”

 

She nodded and slowly took the tissue from where it was still pinched between my fingers, carefully blowing her nose while I dialed Scott to come meet us where we were. I sat Elizabeth down in the driver’s seat and carefully began brushing her hair from her face, feeling my body relaxing just from being near her. Elizabeth rested her face on my hand, rubbing her chubby cheek against my palm, and turned her big, brown eyes up at me through her wet blonde lashes. I smiled down at her, still feeling guilty about waking her up, and swept my thumb under her watery eyes. She pulled out another tissue and began wiping her face up when Scott finally answered.

 

“Oh, hey, Stiles! What’s up man, are you still stuck in traffic or what? I mean, I think I heard some kind of screeching or something, was that you or Elizabeth?” I could practically see that stupid, confused pout on his stupid, crooked jaw and smiled.

 

“Oh, haha Scott, very funny; you should just quit your job, bro—become a comedian!” Scott puffed at me over the phone and my eyes almost rolled out of my head.

 

“I had to pull over since I woke Elizabeth up and she had a fit,” I heard Scott tut at me on the other line, and may any warm n’ fuzzies I ever felt for my best bro be damned. “So I was wondering if you could run—don’t you whine at me Scott, _I mean it_ —over to the Beacon Hills sign, maybe ride back in the Jeep with me and Elizabeth?” Elizabeth was staring intently at the phone in my hand and I rolled my eyes; how many times have I told her that listening in on other people’s conversations was rude?

 

“Yeah man, sure, anything for Elizabeth! You should’ve just said that to begin with, man.”

 

Elizabeth smiled into my hand and I thanked him before hanging up and tossing my phone into the passenger’s side seat. Elizabeth yawned and rubbed her face, probably placated by learning of Scott’s arrival. I pulled her up into my arms before slowing rocking her while leaning against the car and carefully listening for any signs of Scott. Her sweet, baby powder scent mixed with mine and she began rumbling contentedly. The trees to my left just behind the car rustled and waited for whatever creature of the wild to leap out at me with a raised eyebrow, Scott’s tell-tale scent close enough to make Elizabeth hum in delight. Scott burst out of the tree line, his teeth carefully morphing back into blunt, human, non-murdering tools of frat-boy food destruction, and turned his goofy grin on my and the half asleep child that had begun steadily drooling on my shoulder. He cooed happily and jogged around the Jeep to me and Elizabeth.

 

“Hurry up, gimme!” Scott’s arms were stuck out, fingers curling into a grabbing motion, and he looked something akin to a small child begging for candy in a 25-year-old man’s body.

 

I peeked down at Elizabeth, who was still snoozing away against my chest, and gave a one-shouldered shrug at him. He shuffled forward, peeling Elizabeth off of me and into his arms, a giant smile on his face. She huffed, but curled around Scott’s hulking shoulder none the less. He rumbled, apparently pleased that his favorite beta’s bouncing baby girl was pleased to smell him, and rubbed his cheek against the loose, downy-soft sticking up off her head. She grumbled back, her fingers tight in his white t-shirt.

 

“Her howls are getting so much better, Allison is gonna be _so_ stoked; have you been coaching her or something?” Scott nuzzled his nose deep into the side of her head, a small smile on his face. Elizabeth had her ear pressed against his pulse point, sated little huffs puffing out of her sleepy lips every now and then, with her chin resting on Scott’s shoulder. Scott’s arms, meanwhile, were wrapped around Elizabeth and he had a hand running up and down her little back.

 

Forget what I said, the warm n’ fuzzies can come back so long as he keeps his sass to a minimum and never stops cuddling Elizabeth.

 

“She’s so cute when she howls,” Scott was chuckling as she nuzzled his jaw, her hair tickling his sensitive neck, “it reminds me of my first.”

 

“You mean that yodeling abomination? I still get secondhand embarrassment from that,” I huffed, my mouth twisting into a grin as we both got back into the Jeep, “she does it whenever things don’t go her way; it hurts my ears something _fierce_.” Scott chuckled quietly, Elizabeth still pressed against his chest in the front seat.

 

“Don’t laugh! It used to drive our local pack bonkers, and don’t even get me _started_ with the landlady’s dog.” Scot outwardly laughed at that, immediately hushing into a coo when Elizabeth whined against his shoulder at all the noise.

 

“Yeah, be afraid,” Scott turned his puppy eyes on me, but I was too bust _paying attention to the road_ for his tomfoolery, “she’s a ridiculously light sleeper, man; don’t mess with her.”

 

I pulled into a familiar cul-de-sac, an overwhelming sense of _home_ and _pack_ filling my chest. We drove past the Schwartz’ family’s place, who were now the Millers according to Scott ( _“Man, the dad, Donovan? He’s an **asshole** , holy shit.”_), and I saw Mrs. McKinney wave at me from her garden where I used to pick tulips for my mom as a kid.

 

Three more houses till home and I was almost about to burst from the excitement.

 

I saw my dad’s black SUV in the driveway, remembering that since retiring he was no longer in need of a cruiser, and felt the tears sting behind my eyes. Scott patted my shoulder when I parked in the drive way and hopped out of the Jeep with Elizabeth in-tow. My dad was already on the porch, now suddenly holding an awake-but-sleepy-and-happy Elizabeth in his arms while Scott ran back to grab mine and Elizabeth’s overnight bags from the back of the Jeep. I hopped out after taking a few breaths to stop the tears and met my dad in the driveway for a hug, his hand a warm, familiar weight on my shoulder.

 

“I missed you kiddo,” his smile was watery and immediately regretted not visiting him more often, “we all did.”

 

I smiled back at him pressed my face into his shoulder, letting the happiness all soak in before heading into the house. He patted my back and tried handing Elizabeth off to help with the bags, but I just ushered him into the house with the promise that Scott’s big, alpha muscles could handle _two_ overnight bags. My dad was rocking a now practically asleep Elizabeth and hummed, shuffling into the house with a wide smile on his face. Once inside, however, I pried Elizabeth off of him, my dad giving her a big kiss on the forehead and a mumbled ‘ _good night_ ’, and trudged upstairs to put her to bed in my old room before getting settled in.

 

The room was just as I left it—empty closet, clear desk, bare walls. My dad had changed the bedding before Elizabeth and I arrived, _thank God_ , and Scott must’ve beaten us upstairs because both mine and her bags were sitting on the desk.

 

“C’mon, pumpkin,” I whispered as I lowered her onto my childhood bed, “first we gotta get you into your pajamas and then you can go to sleep for reals this time.”Elizabeth grouched the entire time I rummaged for her Little Red pajamas and helped her through putting them on, before contentedly snuggling down into the fresh, familiar smelling linens spread on my old bed. I knelt down and stroked her exhausted little face before giving her a kiss goodnight.

 

“Nighty-night, kiddo—I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

 

She grunted at me and I chuckled back, finished tucking her in, and slipped out to head back downstairs before turning in myself. As soon as I shut the door, I heard Dad and Scott talking seriously around the kitchen table before they came to a complete halt as I shuffled down the stairs and rounded the corner.

 

“Is something up, or..?” I quirked a brow at the guilty purse of Scott’s lips and my dad’s tight-lipped smile, and I almost thought they would cave for a second. Both immediately schooled their expressions and I almost rammed my head through the wall; no way were they gonna play _this_ shit with, _not gonna happen_.

 

“Nah, Stiles,” Scott gulped at my now furrowed brow and now increasing frustration, “me and your dad were just, uh…y’know, talking about Elizabeth and how much she’s grown?” Scott scratched his face and Dad sighed in exasperation.

 

Scott was a _terrible_ liar.

 

“Scott and I were discussing the next pack meeting and were wondering if we should hold it here or Scott’s.” At least he was blunt, I’ll give him _that_ much.

 

“Why not hold it tomorrow evening? You can watch Elizabeth and get her integrated with the pack while I set up our new place.” Scott grimaced and I saw my dad hold back another sigh. The room became tense and Scott’s mouth was set in a sad smile.

 

“Well, Stiles, I was sort of hoping that you’d—well, you know…” Scott scratched his head and looked up at me.

 

_‘I was sort of hoping you’d come to the pack meeting yourself.’_

 

“No.”

 

“Stiles, c’mon, please—”

 

“No, Scott—”

 

“Now boys, would you just—”

 

“It’s not happening Scott, I’m not fucking going—”

 

“Son, watch your language!”

 

“ _Please_ , Stiles, it wouldn’t _kill_ you to come bond with the pack—”

 

“Scott—”

 

“It’s _our_ pack, Stiles—it’s _always_ been our pack, and I want you to be there man. Not just for me and the pack but for Elizabeth, too.” Scott’s tone was pleading and his face was defeated but his eyes were still hopeful. “She’s going to be joining the pack and _you_ need to build up the pack bonds you left behind.”

 

“C’mon, son.” _It wouldn’t hurt to see them again_.

 

“Dad, Scott, look—”

 

There was a loud bang from the door slamming—I just couldn’t get a damn word in, is that just too much to ask for, _Jesus_ —and Dad ran to go check on who was ballsy enough to try and break into a retired sheriffs’ house. Scott looked towards the front of the house and then at me before sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose (a habit he picked up from his mom in 4th grade that pretty much stuck), and I turned and looked towards where my dad was now dragging our ‘guest’ back to the kitchen. My all of the air in my lungs suddenly disappeared, anything in my head suddenly replaced with pure anger.

 

“Oh _hell_ no, there’s no way I’m dealing with this shit right now.”

 

Leaning on my (struggling) dad into the kitchen was the last person I wanted to see, especially after the lovely conversation Scott and I just had. Derek fucking Hale was draped over my now practically _elderly_ father, who was trying to walk and apply pressure to a heavily bleeding wound at the same time, and it brought me back to the good ‘ol days of patching up my underage friends and fighting supernatural crime.

 

“Now listen, Stiles, I can explain this, really, I can—” Scott fumbled his words and helped my dad lay a _mortally wounded Derek fucking Hale on the kitchen-table-turned-gurney_.

 

“How the fuck can you explain Derek being here, Scott? He’s been gone for 5 years; did it just slip your mind to _tell me he was back_?” Scott flinched, Derek groaned, and my dad began fishing a first aid _duffle_ kit out from under the sink. This was just _too_ surreal.

 

“I was going to! He’s only been back in town for a few weeks—”

 

“Scott, we’ve been planning my move back for _months_ —”

 

“Well it’s not like you _asked_ —”

 

“ _I never had to since you never talked about it_ —”

 

“Would both of you just _shut the hell up_?!”

 

“Uh, yeah, sure Derek.” Scott jumped back to Derek’s side and I heard a tearful shriek come from upstairs.

 

 _Fuck Derek and his loud-ass self_.

 

“Stiles, can you get that?” Scott yelled and he rifled through the giant first-aid kit my dad had fetched earlier. When Scott produced a pair of pliers and a blowtorch, I almost hurled and nodded quickly.

 

“Is there a fucking _kid_ here? _Why is there a kid here_?” Derek’s eyes flashed at me and fuck the nausea; I could’ve punched him on his stupid, pretty face.

 

“It’s my kid, dickhead,” Derek’s lip curled at the insult, but I turned towards the stairs to hurry up and shush Elizabeth, “now I hate to leave your dying, wolfy ass to Scott’s blowtorch, but I have a 3-year-old to put _back_ to sleep, no thanks to you.” I dashed up the stairs to Derek’s pained shout, stumbling up the stairs to hush my crying child. Who was no longer crying. Once I got to the top of the stairs, Elizabeth’s door was already open, and a cold spike rushed through my stomach. In a rush of adrenaline I kicked the door open the rest of the way, startling Elizabeth in the arms what looked like Isaac, who jumped mid cradle.

 

“Jesus Christ in a basket—Isaac?!” The tall, blonde figure turned around wearily but sighed once he recognized me.

 

“Yeah, hey Stiles, I was just hushing Elizabeth,” Isaac was smiling guiltily, undoubtedly hearing mine and Scott’s conversation downstairs, “so I guess you see Derek’s back in town?” Elizabeth sniffled into Isaacs shoulder and he gently nuzzled the top of her head with a comforting hum.

 

I wanted to be mad, I _really_ did, but Isaac was just such a puppy sometimes.

 

“Yeah,” I sighed and took Elizabeth, who immediately wrapped her arms around my neck in a baby chokehold, and looked up at him, “though you might want to go help Scott out; tell my dad to sit down, I don’t want Derek breaking his hip or something.” Isaac chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck before giving me a nod and jogging downstairs.

 

I sat down on the bed, and Elizabeth looked up at me tiredly.

 

“I know, baby, you can’t get any rest around here either, huh?” She nodded and pressed her face into the crook of my neck but her head shot up at a string of expletives followed by a snarl that carried upstairs.

 

“Daddy—” I cut her off before she could even ask and gave a strained smile.

 

“That was, uh, Daddy’s…friend? Sort of? Uncle Scott, Isaac, and Grandpa need to fix his booboos and since it kind of hurts he said some bad words—which you should never, ever repeat, okay?” Elizabeth blinked owlishly at me and furrowed her brow before nodding slowly.

 

“Why does your sort-of friend have booboos? Daddy, you should kiss them better like you do for me—what if they don’t fix right and still hurt, because Uncle Scott and Uncle Isaac and Grandpa forgot to kiss his booboos?” I pursed my lips as I sucked in a breath and tried to push away the mental image of Derek ripping my face off for trying to ‘ _fix his booboos_ ’ with kisses.

 

“Well, Elizabeth, daddy can’t do that because it wouldn’t be very appropriate—” a loud thump sounded from downstairs along with a long list of swears and I cringed, “but I’m sure he’ll heal up just fine; he’s a wolf like you, uncle Scott, and uncle Isaac.”

 

Elizabeth nodded along with me and yawned, crawling off my lap and under the covers.

 

“Okay, daddy,” she mumbled, pressing her face against the pillows as I leaned over to kiss her goodnight, “but I still think you should go kiss his booboos.” Elizabeth yawned once then promptly dropped off to sleep. I turned on some lullabies on my phone before slipping out of the room and shutting the door, hoping it would help to drown out the loudness downstairs.

 

I ran down the stairs as quietly as I could, pushing the sleeves of my soft, grey henley up on my way down. As soon as I rounded the corner, I scanned the kitchen for any damage and the task at hand. Isaac had Derek pinned to the table, which was looking a bit shaky under all of Derek’s weight, and Scott was using the pliers to dig out a bullet, clearly one laced with wolfsbane judging from black gunk and dark veins stemming from the wound in Derek’s abdomen, and the blowtorch was lying, discarded, on the floor. My dad was closing the drapes around the kitchen and locking doors, und pulled a handgun out from under the sink. Scott swore under his breath as he struggled to get a good hold on the bullet lodged in Derek’s skin. Derek, in the meantime, was snarling and cursing the very ground Scott walked on and the air that he _breathed,_ sweat beading on his forehead as he threatened to take the pliers and pull the bullet out himself. Dramaqueen.

 

“Give me the pliers, Scott, I’ll do it.” Scott looked up at me in surprise before handing off the pliers to me resignedly.

 

“Scott, hold down his legs.” Scott moved down to the end of the table to hold onto Derek’s legs while Isaac reestablished his grip on Derek’s shoulder, both bracing themselves for a reaction. I slipped on some oven mitts and picked up the blowtorch and readjusted my grip on the pliers.

 

“Sorry, Derek.” I flicked on the blowtorch and readied myself for the gore that would follow as my dad placed a dishtowel-wrapped wooden spoon between Derek's teeth.

 

“This might hurt.”


	2. Old Wounds Will Eventually Close (Doesn't Mean They're Forgotten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter is now up, hope it doesn't seem strange/rushed; i still don't have a beta and i'm in need of a new computer (considering the one i'm using is mostly broken), so i'm not completely sure when the third chapter will be up! :cc

When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining painfully in my eyes and my shirt was missing.

 

I sat up, my back aching from the cramped position I slept in, and I looked around the room to gain my bearings. Elizabeth was curled up between me and Isaac on the bed and Scott was snoring on the floor at the foot of it, one of Elizabeth’s blankets tucked around his massive shoulders. There was someone puttering around in the kitchen downstairs (probably Dad?) and I reached for my phone on the little nightstand next to me to check the time. I had a few missed calls from Lydia, no biggie, but seeing as it was only 8 ‘o clock, I didn’t bother waking Isaac or Scott and allowed Elizabeth a little more time to sleep in since it was only Saturday. I got up, grabbed a t-shirt from my overnight bag, stretched (feeling that rush of _success_ when one of my vertebrae popped back in place), and shuffled to the bathroom to piss.

 

After finishing my business and washing my hands, I found my shirt from last night—which was _covered_ in dried black stuff and blood, _awesome_ —lying in the bathtub along with someone’s pants and _one_ boot; and then last night’s _festivities_ all came flooding in at once, including the blowtorch and pliers, _ew_ , and those pants and boot were apparently _Derek’s_ , which meant there was a _pantless Derek wandering/sleeping in the house somewhere_.

 

My head reeled with the fact that I dug a bullet out of a guy I hadn’t seen in 5+ years on my father’s kitchen table with my 3 year old daughter in bed upstairs, who could very well be _scarred for life,_ and I didn’t even know where he _was_ , much less his state of dress. Who passed out first—Derek from the pain or _me_ from the sight of his blood all over the place? Just as I started building myself up into a panic attack, I heard the harsh knocking of somebody outside and tried to collect myself. Hopefully it was dad needing to shower before work and not Derek in boxers—or briefs, the possibilities were _endless_.

 

“Uh,” I cleared my throat, noticing the strange, strangled tone of my voice, “um, ocupado?” Going by the answering sigh, whoever was outside was kind of pissed—it must be Derek then. Great.

 

“Stiles, it’s—”

 

“Derek. Yeah, I figured—what do you want?” I winced at how sharp my voice came out and began chewing on my bottom lip, hoping Derek didn’t decide he wanted to kick the bathroom door in and rip my jugular out with his bare hands. Thankfully, Derek was in a forgiving mood this morning and just sighed tiredly instead of maiming me in my childhood home.

 

“I need my pants.”

 

Oh no. The pants—he was totally pantless, _I knew it_ , _holy shit_ —

 

“Uh, yeah, sure dude,” I went over to the tub, totally cool and _composed_ , the door swinging open behind me and a very shirtless Derek striding in behind it as I dug his bloody, torn pants from the tub.

 

“Um, Derek, your pants are kind of ruined—”

 

I looked over my shoulder, trying to look anywhere but Derek’s body and failing miserably, and any thought I had going before completely disappeared. Derek quirked a brow at my (probably ridiculous) expression and gaping jaw as he plucked his jeans from my slightly clenched hands. I coughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and turned back to the tub to grab whatever torn/bloodied garments were  while Derek put his pants back on, his tanned abdomen and back muscles rippling as he bent over to pull them up. God, he was _cut_ —was his body made to make us _lesser_ beings realize just how incompetent our musculature was in comparison to his?

 

“Stiles, where’s my shirt?” I looked back at Derek, whose biceps were practically _bulging_ as his arms crossed over his chest. I tried to think back on it and a vague memory of my dad throwing it out suddenly popped up.

 

“Oh, it was kind of trashed so my dad may have thrown it away?” Derek grumbled grouchily at me and I glanced at him as I held out his boot so I could move on to the task at hand.

 

“Look man, I don’t know where your shit is; if you want, I can give you one of mine or my dad’s but it’s the best I can do right now.” He didn’t have to be such a sourwolf all of the time, _Jesus_.

 

Derek, just like the old days, snatched his boot from me and made a few vague gestures with his eyebrows, holding an arm out towards the door expectantly. Glad to see he was comfortable enough with _ordering me around_ , per usual.

 

“Yeah, okay, fine—just follow me, I guess, I think I have something in my bag—’” Derek’s annoyed growl cut me off and I whipped around to look at him in the eye, to hell with all of this awkward, beating around the bush _bullshit_. So _this_ is what I get for being fucking civil, great— _amazing,_ actually.

 

“Christ, are suddenly _mute_ now? Can you not use your _words_ anymore?” Derek opened his mouth to say something, his body language suddenly taught and angry, but I wasn’t anywhere near done bitching him out; I had 5 years of pent up frustration to take out on him, there was no way I was just going to leave it at a slap on the wrist and all I saw was red.

 

“You know what? No, Derek—just no.” I dropped the soiled clothes onto the ground and jabbed a finger at one of his meaty arms, and he narrowed his eyes at me, his brows drawn together angrily.

 

“You see, you keep on doing it; you have no right to get all pissy with me, especially after all of the shit the two of us have been through together—I saved your life last night for the _millionth_ time, dude, even though you just disappeared all those years ago without even saying _goodbye_ ,” Derek was looking angrier and angrier by the second and I nearly launched myself at him out of frustration, “but all of a sudden you were back, and I thought we were at _least_ allies back then, so I did the right thing, Derek. I did what allies and friends are _supposed_ to do, which is _help each other_. Now would you just throw me goddamn a bone and fucking _talk_ to me?” I definitely yelled that last bit and inwardly cringed, suddenly remembering where I was.

 

There was a shuffling noise from down the hall and my head turned so fast I was surprised I didn’t get whiplash. A disheveled looking Scott was frozen at the now open door of my old bedroom, his eyes wide with surprise, with Elizabeth at his side, her little fingers wrapped around one of his belt loops. She was looking between me and Derek worriedly, obviously scenting the air and noticing the dried blood all over Derek and the shirt on the floor between us.

 

“Daddy..?” Her voice was hesitant and my stomach dropped, immediately turning away from Derek and moving to crouch in front of her.

 

“I’m sorry, honey, did I wake you up?” She visibly relaxed and coiled her arms around my neck, rubbing her cheeks against my collarbone to mix our scents and cover up the dying smell of anger that had probably been rolling off of me in waves.

 

“No, I had to peepee and Uncle Scott was gonna take me to the bathroom.” She was looking over my shoulder cautiously at Derek, who was staring at the two of us with a look of shock on his face.

 

“Me n’ Uncle Scott thought we would make you breakfast when I was done? But you were already up—I know ‘cuz I heard you.” Her doe eyes were turned back up at me and I almost melted; she was so perfect, and I just said the _f-bomb_ in front of her.

 

“Are you mad?” My heart nearly broke at that, so I pulled her close and rubbed her back.

 

“No, baby—I’m not mad. I was just a little frustrated earlier, but breakfast would be great right about now, wouldn’t it?” Elizabeth beamed up and me and nodded, hugging me back full force.

 

“Right, Scott? Why don’t you help Elizabeth to the bathroom _downstairs_ so I can clean up the mess in this one, and I’ll be down to help both of you make breakfast?” Scott looked down at me and nodded, taking Elizabeth’s hand and leading her down the stairs. Isaac slipped out behind them and hurried past me and Derek to join Scott downstairs, trying not to look at either of us.

 

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, my headache from the other evening returning, as I stood up.

 

“Look, Derek, I’m really not asking for much,” I turned back to the bathroom and gathered up the laundry I had dropped during our argument, “just don’t leave me with radio silence, okay? Not like you did last time.” I squeezed past him, trying to ignore the resigned drop of his shoulder as my arm brushed against his.

 

\---

 

After throwing the destroyed clothes in the wash I went to the kitchen and helped Elizabeth and Scott make pancakes for breakfast, Isaac manning the griddle as pancake flipper, Scott as the ‘master batter-scooper’ (Elizabeth’s words, not mine), and Elizabeth standing between them as the pancake topping manager. I somehow ended up with banana slices and blueberries in one pancake and chocolate chips with raspberry jelly in another, but was glad they at least weren’t bunt this time (Pancake Crisis of Senior Graduation averted). After finishing up breakfast, my dad came down and wrangled Elizabeth and Isaac into helping him with the dishes, Scott joining in because Isaac was there, and I jogged up the stairs to claim the shower.

 

I made it quick and threw on some fresh clothes once I got out and dried off, running back down to kiss Elizabeth goodbye so I could join Lydia and Danny (plus Ethan) at the new house and make sure the movers put our boxes and furniture in the right places.

 

I pretended to not notice a missing a shirt from my bag as pocketed my phone and keys.

 

\---

 

Now, knowing Lydia, I should’ve called her as soon as I saw that I had I missed her calls in the first place. Which, after my argument with Derek, breakfast with Scott, Elizabeth, and Isaac, shower, and last minute goodbyes, had escalate from ‘a few’ to 43 missed calls, 25 texts, and 20 threatening voicemails when I left at around 10 ‘o clock. I became _slightly_ worried when the last text I had received before leaving the house was something along the lines of, ‘ _I don’t have all fucking day, hurry your ass up_ ’, not wanting to keep Lydia waiting so as to give her time to unleash her wrath on my personal belongings. The worry, however, transformed into to unadulterated _horror_ when the texts started becoming reminiscent of our senior prank, in which she had somehow nailed all of Mr. Harris’ belongings to the ceiling of his classroom and put his car on the roof of the high school. My phone buzzed at me from the passenger and I took a glance once I was at a red light, almost choking on my coffee once I opened it.

 

**_“I’m gonna hunt. You. Down._ **

**_–Lydia”_ **

****

It was at this time I realized that turning on the siren would probably be a _great_ idea, and I almost sobbed with relief once I saw the new house and Lydia’s car still in the driveway nearly 2 minutes later. She was immediately stomping out of the door, and was that stained glass? Well, at least the house was pretty, Elizabeth’s gonna _love_ that—

 

“Stiles Stilinski, you better give me good reason you are so late or else there’s gonna be hell to pay—” She froze in place, any angry words suddenly dead in her mouth. Her head tilted and she watched me as I slowly got out of the Jeep, her manicured brows dipping down while I fiddled with my keys and stuffed them in my back pocket with my phone.

 

“Lydia, _my other half_ , I’m so sorry, I must’ve lost track of time; a lady should never have to wait for somebody like me, a common man—”

 

“—in the presence of a goddess such as myself, I know.” Her arms immediately crossed and she gave me The Look, her hip popped out and her eyebrows quirked. “What happened?” The question sounded more like a statement and she stared at me expectantly.

 

“What do you mean, ‘What happened?’, nothing _happened_. Elizabeth and I got to my dad’s last night, she was fussy and I didn’t get much sleep.” I swear to anything that is _holy_ , if she rolled her eyes any harder they were gonna pop out of her head. “Lydia, I promise you, nothing’s wrong; I’m fine, Elizabeth is fine, _everything is fine_.”

 

Lydia huffed and motioned for me to follow her as she walked back to the house, throwing open the door as if she _owned_ the place.

 

“If you think I bought any of that crap, you’ve got another thing coming,” she called over her shoulder, leading me past a beautifully furnished living and dining room and into the kitchen, “now, sit; tell me what _really_ happened, no bullshit this time.” She sat down at the breakfast bar intently, pulling one of my old LAPD mugs, which was filled with Lydia’s _favorite_ French roast, closer to her.

 

When did she get here and why was the house already so put together?

 

Her eyes were boring into me, mouth in a taught line. I looked down at the floor and back up at Lydia before finally caving; honestly, when was I ever able to _really_ lie to Lydia? I sat down on one of the stools across from her with a huff, finally feeling the full weight of last night and this morning on my shoulders.

 

“Last night me and Scott were talking about tonight’s pack meeting, which I wasn’t planning on going to tonight for obvious reasons but hey, I guess those plans have changed,” I mumbled, gesturing to the finished kitchen around me, “and we weren’t really _arguing_ per se, but more of ‘agitatedly conversing’? Well, anyways, we were doing that ‘ _agitated conversing_ ’ thing—and I could barely get a word in, by the way, between my dad _and_ Scott—when all of a sudden out of nowhere, somebody came barging into the house. ‘Somebody’ turned out to be ‘Derek Hale’ and I didn’t know if I was pissed to see him or pissed that none of you told me he was back, has been back for weeks, according to Scott, even though we’ve been talking about this moving thing for months—not even _Allison_ said anything, and she’s, like, a Disney princess. Disney princess don’t hide that kind of stuff.” Lydia rolled her eyes at me, to proud to feel ashamed or upset over withholding _very_ important information from me.

 

“Well, it wasn’t like you _asked_ or anything…” She took an elegant sip of her coffee and peered up at me over the lip to continue.

 

“Yeah, like I had the clue to ask to begin with.” She huffed at me and crossed her arms, quirking a judgmental brow in my direction.

 

“What do you want me say? That I’m _sorry_? We didn’t _hide_ it. None of us thought it was important enough to bring up—ergo, not my fault; continue.” I rolled my eyes and leaned my head on my hand, the mental and physical exhaustion really kicking in.

 

“Yeah okay; well, as I was saying, Derek bursts into my dad’s house all beaten up and mangled, then me and Scott got into an argument, and Elizabeth starts crying upstairs because we were kind of freaking out…I mean, they were using a table I used to eat Christmas cookies on as a kid as a goddamn _gurney_ —who wouldn’t freak out?” Lydia looked surprised for once and leaned back in her chair with her head cocked to the side in amazement.

 

“Ew, we used to eat pack dinners on that thing. What exactly was Derek’s issue?”

 

“He was shot by wolfsbane-laced bullet; I’m sure Scott will go more into detail about it later tonight. Anyways,” I paused as Danny and Ethan wandered in with a nod in their direction, Danny all smiles as he patted my back and fixed himself another cup of coffee, “I ran upstairs and put Elizabeth back to bed while Isaac ran back downstairs to help my dad and Scott. Isaac apparently showed up with Derek or something? I don’t know, he was there—but yeah, I put Elizabeth back down and put on some loud lullabies and shut the door, then ran back _down_ the stairs to see what Derek was crying about this time.” Danny took up the seat next to Lydia and was listening along, Ethan leaning on the counter next to him.

 

“Wait—so Derek was shot by a _hunter_? You said something about wolfsbane bullets; Derek never told me anything about hunters before I came here last night.” Ethan, that smart cookie— _who was apparently in immediate contact with Derek_ —offered up some good evidence for me to file away. I’ll have to ask more about that after Story Time with Stiles feat. Lydia Nagging in the Background.

 

“Yeah, I have a feeling he was; I ended up having to dig the bullet out of his abdomen myself. It had enough aconite leftover inside for me to burn up and save him from dying, _again_ , but the bullet looked like a custom from what I could see—typical hunter behavior. I should have Allison look at it later, good thing I saved it—”

 

Lydia gave me a look and I cleared my throat awkwardly.

 

“So, yeah, I pulled a bullet out of Derek and saved his life. Cool.” Lydia huffed at me and motioned for me to get on with it. “So after that, he crashed on the couch and Scott, Isaac, and I went upstairs to sleep. I’m not sure _how_ it happened, but we must’ve made a puppy pile afterwards because Isaac was totally snuggling with Elizabeth and Scott somehow made it to the floor.” Danny chuckled and Ethan snorted, Lydia allowing a little smirk to mental image of Isaac and Elizabeth cuddling.

 

“After that I went to the bathroom to do my thing and clean up the bloody mess left in the bath tub—oh, don’t give me that look Danny, it was just some clothing; a werewolf occupational hazard—and Derek just waltz’s in demanding his pants and a shirt for his back since his old one was ruined. So I was all like, ‘sure dude,’ and he got all growly at me. I flipped out, whatever.” Lydia frowned at me, probably wanting me to elaborate.

 

“Okay, so we got into an argument and I may or may not have dropped the f-bomb in front of my 3-year-old.” Danny gasped in mock horror, a hand flying up over his mouth, and Lydia swatted at him.

 

“What did you fight about?” Lydia ushered Danny and Ethan away with an off-hand comment about the toiletries upstairs and turned back to me imploringly.

 

“Just, you know—stuff.” She looked at me disbelievingly and crossed her arms.

 

_That’s bullshit and you know it_.

 

“Okay, so I got mad about him being such a dick to me all of the time! I mean, it’s not like he has the right too; shit, _I_ should be the one being a dick after he just up and disappeard without a word—but I was cool with him and he nonverbally bitched me out with his eyebrows and _growled_ at me. He hasn’t growled at me since I was _fifteen_. We made all that progress _years_ ago and it’s like every step we take forward, something makes us take ten steps back.” I didn’t realize the stinging behind my eyes until the word vomit started happening, and I didn’t even bother trying to stop it—Lydia always had that effect on me.

 

“I’m so tired of getting my hopes up with Derek; is it wrong that I wanted something between us? I trusted him Lydia—I thought he trusted me enough to tell me he was gonna ditch Beacon Hills instead of just leaving. He didn’t even say _goodbye_.” I was going to say a bunch of embarrassing shit, probably stuff that would make me sound like some hormonal, moody teenager—but there was no way I could stop, not now. So I took a breath and looked Lydia in the eyes, knowing at least she would understand me.

 

“I just—look, Lydia, you _saw_ what that did to me back then; I waited for him, I really did. I called him, sent him texts, probably _hundreds_ , but I never got anything back. I thought we were maybe almost friends, _allies_ at least, and he didn’t even say jack to me. Shit, I even thought I could’ve _liked_ him after the whole ‘alpha pack’ business and the nemeton fiasco. We’d spent so much time together...and he’d just been so nice—well, nicer than he used to be—and I thought there was something there, you know?” I felt Lydia’s soft, warm hands ghost over where mine where they were clenched together in front of me and sighed.

 

“And he just—he didn’t _say_ anything.” I sighed and wiped a little at my eyes, opening one of my hands for Lydia’s palm to fit in mine.

 

“Jesus, I feel like a teenage _girl_.” I tried looking everywhere but Lydia even though she could already tell what I was feeling. It was like heartbreak all over again after seeing him and I could barely keep it together in front of her—she _was_ my other half for a reason.

 

“Stiles, you’re allowed to feel emotions. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you can’t get upset about things or get mad—and sure as hell doesn’t make you a girl. Derek had always meant something to you and I know it hurt when he left; I’m sorry I never told you anything—I didn’t think he would stay long enough for you to notice he ever came home.” Lydia’s eyes and hands were soft, and she squeezed the hand she was holding.

 

I got up and came around the bar, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and breathing in the warm vanilla perfume she was so fond of, already feeling a bit more relaxed. Lydia rubbed my back and rested her head on my shoulder, and I heard Danny come back downstairs as quietly as he could.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything either, Stiles.” I turned towards Danny and sniffled manfully, holding my arms open for a hug. He grinned and wrapped me up in the trademark Mahealani Man-Hug, squeezing my shoulders when we parted.

 

“It’s okay—I can understand why you guys didn’t say anything about it now; I probably would’ve done the same thing for me, too, I guess. Sorry for putting you guys on the spot like that, we have more important things to take care of right now.” Danny nodded and slapped my shoulder, deciding to give me grand tour of what he and Ethan were able to accomplish over the past 24 hours.

 

The living and dining rooms were decorated by Lydia herself and Ethan and Aiden had apparently painted the whole house a few days ago with Isaac, which within itself was an _awesome_ mental image considering how _famously_ they got along back in high school. Danny took me upstairs to see the bedrooms, which he worked on with Lydia, and I almost cried when I saw Elizabeth’s—her walls were coral with bright white furniture decorating it. Lydia had tried her best to find decorations and bedding in Elizabeth’s favorite colors (coral and teal, which was quite a doozy when it came to clothing shopping), and Lydia had gone ahead and put away all of Elizabeth’s clothes for me and unpacked most of her boxes. The bathroom across the hall from Elizabeth’s room was all _The Little Mermaid_ themed, and I could’ve gotten down on one knee and married Lydia right there with the Ariel shower curtains and Flounder soap dish as our witnesses. Scott had actually worked on my room alongside Lydia, who, for some odd reason, had insisted on painting it relaxing colors and filling the walls with beach paintings. There was a jar next to my bed that smelled like vanilla and lavender, which was _heavenly_ , and a stack of boxes filled with my clothes they hadn’t gotten to yet. I turned to look at Danny, Lydia, and Ethan, and pulled all three of them in an awkward hug of jumbled limbs.

 

“You guys are the _best_ , seriously,” Danny chuckled into the top of my head and Lydia wrapped her arms around my waist, “Elizabeth’s gonna love this, _oh my God_ , that _room_ , Lydia!” Lydia giggled into my collarbone and patted my back.

 

“You’ll have to thank Allison and Jackson for that, too; they let me drag them around little kid furniture stores for _hours_ these past few months and barely complained.” Ew, Jackson. Bless Allison’s little soul, though; I should send her a bouquet or buy her lunch, something _nice_.

 

“Yeah, maybe to Allison—I don’t think he’ll be able to stand breathing in the same room as Jackson though.” Ethan was nodding along with Danny’s wise words, he himself having to go through the ‘Jackson Experience’ when Jackson came back a year after I left. While Ethan and I weren’t exactly the best of friends, I still pitied him for his troubles.

 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled away from the three of, flicking open my text messages as I backed away.

 

**_“liz wants 2 kno when u will b back & if da house is done uv bee gone 4 hours”_ **

 

Lydia snorted over my shoulder at Scott’s impeccable grammar and I couldn’t help but agree; it’s like the longer I’m gone, the worse his texting becomes.

 

**_“You already know the house is done; you guys can come over whenever, you sneaky bastard”_ **

 

I shot Scott a quick text back and pocketed my phone, turning to my house guests with a smile.

 

“So…Pack Night Pizza it is?” Ethan agreed heartily and Danny chuckled at his enthusiasm, Lydia hooking her arm with mine as we went back downstairs to hook up the house line and order the 5 some-odd pizzas to feed a literal pack of wolves.

 

As I watched the three of them greet Scott, Isaac, and Elizabeth animatedly, Elizabeth squealing into Lydia’s long hair and Danny swinging her around in the air once Lydia was done, I realized that there was no other place I wanted to be; we were pack and while we’ve each had our own struggles over the years, nothing would change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this seems rushed, i don't know when i'll be able to update next @A@''


	3. An Apology Is Always Nice (Even If It Is A Bit Late)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's a very late chapter 3! Stiles and Derek are finally going to address what all happened last chapter and apologies will (finally) be shared.
> 
> Also, there will be pizza. C'mon.
> 
> And Derek might even be *gasp* _nice_. 
> 
> **On a side note, I'll warn that quite a bit of this is unedited and therefore a bit funky but I hope you enjoy it! c:

I knew going into this that Derek was going to be at the pack meeting and I honestly couldn’t force myself to be mad about it. Was I hurt? Sure. Angry? Not really. I think at this point I was just tired, but I had more important things to focus on. Like my new job at the Police Department starting up next week, what groceries I needed to pick up tomorrow, figuring out why people were getting shot and showing up unannounced to be treated without even a ‘thank you, have a nice day’ afterwards…you know, a day in the life of Stiles Stilinski. I don’t want any trouble, not now. Maybe if I was still just a naive kid without any priorities, but I’m a grown man with a 3 year old now—I can’t go running around Beacon Hills looking for rogue hunters I’m not even sure are still _around_ , especially not when I need to be at home taking care of my girl.

 

I looked over at Elizabeth, who was helping Scott and Isaac set up the table for the pizza, and smiled when I caught her eye. She grinned at me from her perch on Scott’s shoulders, her bright brown eyes glittering over her rosy, freckled cheeks; Elizabeth was my priority now and I wanted to be there for her when she needed me.

 

Lydia bumped her hip against mine, probably for thinking too loud, and her small smile reassured me in a way words couldn’t. If shit hit the fan tonight, she’d be there.

 

“What’re you thinking about this time?” Her hands were busy ripping open packages of cups, paper plates, and napkins and setting them aside in piles for dinner.

 

“Nothing big,” she eyed me and I sighed. “I’m just a little worried about tonight; Elizabeth’s gonna be completely surrounded by wolves, some she doesn’t even _know_ , for the first time in a while and I don’t want her to freak out. I want her to get used to having pack around since it was just the two of use in L.A. I just don’t want her to feel threatened, you know?” We were drawn from our conversation when the doorbell rang and Elizabeth squealing in response, the loud patter of her bare feet across the hardwood echoing throughout the house.

 

“It’ll be fine, Stiles; I’m sure of it. Good news will come out of this.” Lydia was rolling her eyes at me and sighed, turning towards the kitchen entrance where Jackson was now standing with Elizabeth wrapped around him like a limpet.

 

“Your kid’s like a _leach_ , Stilinski.” Elizabeth giggled when Jackson swung her up in the air, carefully placing her back on the ground to run around and bother Scott and Isaac, who were beginning to become a little PG-13 in their little corner in the dining room.

 

 Lydia laughed and wrapped and arm around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and I hated him a little bit less. So long as he made my girls happy, I will be tolerant of his presence. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the paper plates and napkins, moving them into one pile to move to the dining room. Lydia and Jackson followed with the cups and silverware, and suddenly Ethan was toting 5 pizza boxes to bring to the table. Elizabeth was flitting around the room excitedly, finally seeing a majority of her pack for the first time in a few weeks, and occasionally scampered to the windows as more and more people began showing up.

 

My dad and Melissa showed up together, both showering Elizabeth in hugs and kisses, followed closely behind by Chris and then Allison, who, being the cuddly, Disney princess she was, immediately wrapped Elizabeth in a massive hug filled with giggles, dimples, and heartwarming feminist agendas. As everyone mingled and relaxed, my dad and Chris flipping on some sports game, I finally eased right back where I belonged—with my pack, celebrating pack dinners together just like we used to. Amidst the warm, friendly atmosphere that was suddenly filling my home, Scott looked up towards the window, slapping my back as he went to open the door. I noticed all of the other werewolves in the room switch their attention towards the windows and suddenly my heart was in my throat.

 

I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders, feeling Elizabeth’s suddenly worried gaze on me. I looked over in her direction, her big, Bambi eyes darting from me to Scott anxiously, and I gave her an encouraging smile.

 

“C’mere, baby, we have guests.” I spoke calmly and beckoned Elizabeth towards me, slipping her tense hand into mine.

 

Scott opened the door with a smile, slapping Aiden on the shoulder as he and Cora came in. Cora eyed me from her spot next to the door, only looking away when Derek entered, and I sighed with relief once her eyes were off of me. Everyone was quite, the world suddenly feeling as if it stopped moving as soon as Derek passed the threshold. He and Scott were shaking hands when he looked over at me an Elizabeth, nodding his head in my direction. I gave a tight smile back, squeezing the back of Elizabeth’s neck reassuringly, and she looked up at me before marching away from me towards Derek, her tiny shoulders squared. My stomach dropped as soon as I realized what she was doing but she was already too far ahead of me to stop her now, my hand hanging out towards her in a belated attempt of restraint.

 

“Oh no, Elizabeth, sweetie—” Derek was looking down at her confusedly, and I tried making my way over but Isaac put a hand on my shoulder. I looked back at him and motioned towards Elizabeth, not wanting to further scar her with Derek’s angry face than I already have, but Isaac just smiled reassuringly and shook his head. The room was silent, Derek’s entire body tense, as Elizabeth sized up her opponent.

 

“Uncle Isaac says you’re a _dick_ ,” Isaac made a strangled noise behind me and removed his hand from my shoulder as if he’d been burned, but Elizabeth pushed on, “and I don’t know what that means, but Uncle Scott said you’re just…misunderstood? That’s good, right?” Derek was staring down at Elizabeth as if she had two heads and Scott had his fist shoved in his mouth to keep from laughing, seemingly calm despite the rest of the pack. Cora was blinking owlishly from her position next to the door behind Derek and Aiden head his head tilted comically at the scene unfolding before them, staring at Elizabeth fondly.

 

“And even though daddy called you mean words, which wasn’t very nice of him—because you’re a guest, and my daddy says to be nice to guests even if they’re _jerks_ —he also told me you were friends a long time ago”

 

I looked at Allison helplessly and motioned towards Elizabeth, but she just sighed and shook her head. I groaned and began inching a little bit closer to my kid, who was _staring Derek down, Jesus Christ on a bun_ —

 

“I don’t know how my daddy feels about you _now_ , but a friend is a friend—friends are important, and daddy says they last for a lifetime. I guess that means you’re okay then, right?” Derek nodded dumbly and Elizabeth beamed at him, her chubby hands clapping together.

 

“That’s good; do you like seahorses?” Derek had this shocked look on his face, sort like a kicked puppy, and slowly nodded, following Elizabeth when she grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bookshelf next to Lydia, who was stepping aside to make room for them to browse through the books there.

 

“My daddy got me this book about the ocean after we went to the beach!” she was yanking her favorite ocean book off of the shelf and shoving it into Derek’s hands, and led him back to the couch.

 

“It has lots of stuff about seahorses—did you know that boy seahorses carry babies and not the mommies? Isn’t that cool?” Everyone was starting to get up and headed towards the pizza boxes, their trance broken as soon as Elizabeth led Derek to the couch and climbed into his lap, pointing out her favorite parts in the book with pudgy fingers. Lydia elbowed me and smiled.

 

“See, I _told_ you everything was going to be fine.” I looked back over and Elizabeth and Derek, who looked slightly less mortified than he did a moment ago, and sighed.

 

Maybe everything was going to be fine— _for now_. These things tend to change quickly, especially looking at our track record.

 

\---

 

“Elizabeth, stop playing with your food and eat it; I thought you _liked_ pepperoni.” She was sitting in my dad’s lap, babbling about our old apartment in L.A. and how this one was ‘ _so much bigger, daddy did good_ ’, occasionally poking at her food and picking the pepperoni off only to squish it back on mercilessly.

 

Elizabeth’s head snapped over in my direction and she pouted, nodding slowly and dejectedly shoveling cut up pieces of pizza into her mouth. Scott cooed comfortingly and gave me a dirty look, the nerve—Lydia thumped him on the shoulder, preening when he complained about her roughness to Isaac, who rolled his eyes while nodding along understandingly.  I snorted and pushed aside my empty plate, offering to get refills for everyone—and I mean _everyone_ , apparently, even though I was expecting maybe 3 or so—and Derek got up to help collect cups. I internally groaned, not especially looking forward to another segment of ‘ _Alone Time with Derek_ ’, but collected as many cups as I could dutifully, even letting him take 2 when he offered a hand.

 

We were both standing side by side in the kitchen, slowly refilling difference cups with assorted juices, sodas, or, in Elizabeth’s case, milk, the loud laughs from the pack as they ate filling the house. I was reaching for the lemonade for Scott when Derek’s hand and forearm accidentally brushed against mine. We both sort of froze up, static where our skin touched, and I gulped in a breath of air, not really understanding the flood of emotions that followed. It felt like I had noticed every single molecule of air that stood between us, each one charged with a strange, tense energy. Derek was blinking confusedly, his nostrils flared and brows drawn, and I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes from his bristled jaw.

 

His eyes flicked up and met mine and the space between us was crackling and intense, and I felt like I was 17 again and he was 25, and we had every reason in the world to just surge forward and press our lips together, like two puzzle pieces that were made specifically to fit against one another—and _wow_ , this hurts, liking Derek like this all over again honestly _hurts_ , especially after everything that had happened, and I had to look away before I did something stupid or worse.

 

I’m not sure how long we stood there, but Derek was the first to move, pushing the lemonade closer to me and grabbing the pitcher of water behind it. He was avoiding looking at me and I felt my heart thump dangerously against my ribs, stale air trapped in my lungs. I coughed awkwardly and took an even breath, trying to slow down my breathing and heart rate as I poured the lemonade into Scott’s cup with a shaking hand. I felt eyes on me and looked toward the kitchen to see Cora staring me down and I couldn’t bear trying to sort out her calculating looks right now. I went back to refilling cups and tried to juggle them all in my grip alongside Derek, who was struggling just as much as I was from the looks of it, and tried to ignore her stern, analytical gaze.

 

“Sorry, do you, uh—do you need any help?” Derek looked over at me and lifted a brow and my armful of cups, clearly skeptical, but hopeful. My skin itched and I blinked at him, spluttering back to life before he and his eyebrows started judging me in unison.

 

“No, that’s alright, I should be fine—” I was cut off when Jackson’s shitty V8 tipped forward out of my grasp (who even drinks that shit anyways), an ‘ _oh fudge_ ’, for Elizabeth’s sake, stuck in my throat, but Derek’s hand shot out just in time to catch the glass and right it in my grip.

 

I heaved a sigh of relief and looked up at Derek, who was suddenly much closer than he was before, and choked a little at seeing him so close up for the first time in _forever_ , like his stubble and warm skin, and impossibly beautiful eyes—I cleared my throat and smiled.

 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer man.” Derek’s shoulders seemed to relax then and he nodded at me while taking a few glasses from my stack and adding them to his, a tiny smile playing at his lips.

 

Staring at Derek’s back as he gracefully— _like always_ —walked back to the dining room, delivering refills like a damn _pro_ , I like to pretend that nobody saw me trip over my own feet to catch up.

 

\---

 

Hours later, after everyone had full bellies and their fill of embarrassing me in front of my daughter via story time with Uncle Scott, we all sort of tumbled into the living for some good ‘ol fashioned pack bonding. I, of course, dutifully fell asleep seconds after hitting the pillow fort that Elizabeth had wrangled Scott into helping her make and woke up choking on Lydia’s hair. I dazedly looked around me, finding Lydia lying across from me, and sighed contentedly.

 

Elizabeth was curled between Lydia and I, her faint snores muted against Lydia’s stomach. It was _way_ past her bedtime, but she had spent most of the evening puppy-piling with the pack—after dinner, she had almost immediately spread out pillows and blankets with Lydia to prepare for the onslaught of puppy-piles that always followed pack dinners. Sadly, my dad and Melissa left early, both having their own plans, and Chris dipped out as soon as people started cuddling on the floor. Alison, however, stuck around long enough to help us set up before leaving for work and, strangely enough, Scott had Derek and Cora stay for the puppy pile.

 

The same Scott who was most definitely _spooning me_ , Isaac’s arm around his waist with a giant hand spread out on his stomach.

 

I sighed and investigated my surroundings even _further_ , struggling against Scott’s super strength, and did a head count, wanting to keep track of who was where in my new house and what state of sleep they were in. Jackson was on the other side of Lydia, his arm stretched out under her head and his hand cupped under Elizabeth’s, and my stomach warmed with affection—even towards _Jackson_. I felt Ethan nudge my calf as he shifted onto his back so that Danny could rest more comfortably on top of him and I rolled my eyes at their giggles—some people never age past that honeymoon stage, I guess. Aiden, despite his brother’s tomfoolery, was snuffling into Ethan’s shoulder and I playfully kicked him in head as I wiggled out of Scott’s grip, nearly tripping when Isaac curled a hand around my ankle. I looked down to see him blinking up at me groggily, his eyebrows tipped in confusion.

 

“Where’re you going?” I huffed out a quiet chuckle at him and hooked a thumb towards the general vicinity of the powder room next to the stairs.

 

“Don’t worry, not far,” I snickered, tiptoeing over through the mass of sleeping bodies, “I just need to visit the little boy’s room—be back in a jiffy.” Realization dawned on his face and I shook my head.

 

Don’t worry Isaac; at least you’re pretty.

 

“ _Oh_ …try not to trip or get lost, I guess.” I snorted at him over my shoulder and heard his responding laugh muffled against Scoot’s neck. God, he is such a _puppy_.

 

I gingerly stepped over Cora, who had somehow curled herself into a protective halo around Scott and Isaac’s heads, and quickly made my way to the powder room. After finishing my business and smelling every single bar of guest soap Lydia had crammed into such a small space, I wandered back into the living room to stare at the pack. I snorted at Cora, who had somehow made her way into my old spot and had acquired a sleepy baby werewolf to sleep on her chest and I felt a content warmth settle over me. She may have been mad side-eyeing me all day today and we might now have gotten along _too_ well in the past, but years apart and pack bonds had special effects on people. I sighed and stretched my aching back, which crunched in loving protest, startling at the sound of softly clattering dishes from the kitchen. My hand flew to my hip subconsciously and I pinched my eyes in disdain, already knowing my gun wouldn’t be there.

 

I could help getting a little freaked out at foreign sounds in equally foreign surroundings; I’m _small_ —I get scared easily.

 

After tiptoeing past the puppy pile and sneaking into the dining room, I pressed up against the wall and slowly crept to the kitchen entrance and almost shrieked when I peeked around the corner and came face-to-face with Derek. I chokingly released a breath I didn’t know I was holding and I could’ve throttled—or at least _tried_ to throttle Derek where he stood. His arms where crossed over his chest as he rose up to his full height, having been hunched over when he was _creeping by the kitchen entrance_ , and looked down his nose at me while I tried to _not_ die of a heart attack, his eyebrows judging me for the billionth time this evening.

 

“Jesus _,_ next time _warn_ the delicate, squishy human when creeping— _Christ_.” Derek just rolled his eyes at my whisper-yelling, a barely audible sigh passing his lips, and turned back to the sink and dishwasher.

 

Where he had been doing my dishes.

 

Doing my dishes, _for me_ , in my said sink and dishwasher.

 

I stood at the entrance and tried to calm down, my eyes flicking from Derek, to the dishes, and then to the tied up trash bag in the corner ready to be taken to the curb. My heart tugged and squished up at the sight of Derek acting so domestic in my kitchen—I mean, the guy did my _dishes_ and was gonna take out the trash, _c’mon_ —and my throat clenched up with gross, Derek-feelings. He snapped open some dishwasher detergent and steadily poured it into its designated dispenser inside of the machine, closing and starting up washer when he was done. I dashed forward and grabbed the trash bag  before he could and motioned for him to follow me outback to the side of the house where our trash bin was. He nodded and followed me, seemingly relaxed on the outside, and I saved my freaking out for later. I tossed the trash into the bin, turning back to where Derek was standing in the open yard behind me. I approached him slowly with my hands in my pockets, not really knowing where to start.

 

“So,” Derek looked up at me, his arms crossed over his massive chest, “sorry my kid called you a dick?” Derek’s lip twitched in amusement and he shook his head.

 

“Technically it was Isaac, but I think it’s safe to say that I deserved that.” Derek’s smile was easy, relaxed—his words seemed honest and not at all self-deprecating; like it was almost easy to admit he had been a pretty bad alpha in the past.

 

“Well, it was still pretty shitty of Elizabeth to point out. She seems pretty fond of you though, so you shouldn’t take it too hard—I mean, she didn’t even _bite_ you, and that takes some skills.” Derek snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, his lips still quirked in that relaxed smile.

 

He had been all growly and angry this morning—why was he being so… _nice_? We both quietly stood there, eyes searching each other’s faces after being apart for so long, and I sighed.

 

“Look, Derek, I’m sorry I flipped out on you this morning.” Derek’s face immediately twisted in confusion but I held up a hand to buy myself some time.

 

“It was inappropriate at the time and I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, it wasn’t right.” Derek huffed at me in annoyance and I felt something in my stomach lurch with something similar.

 

“Apology not accepted.”

 

Are you _fucking kidding me_? This piece of shit, who does he think he is, after I apologized and everything—

 

“You don’t need to apologize to me about anything, what you said and did wasn’t really wrong.” Any rage I had died where it started and it was suddenly _my_ turn to be confused. “While it was an inappropriate time, what happened was going to happen eventually. I wasn’t exactly the best ally back then, much less a good friend.” Derek’s hands rubbed against his biceps as he contemplated his next choice of words and I just stared at him, mouth agape and completely dumbfounded.

 

“It isn’t an excuse, but I was under a bit of pressure back then—I should’ve done more to keep in touch with you and the pack but I still had things I needed to do before that, before I tried coming back after everything that had happened. When I did try to though, you were gone and Scott was busy with his own pack as a new alpha, so I decided it was time for me to try and move on; I had the old house torn down and tried clearing my head of Beacon Hills for a while but it didn’t feel right. When I came back to talk with Scott, it turned out he needed me more than I thought he did, not that he ever would’ve mentioned that in the _first_ place, and I heard you were moving back into town in a few months, so—I don’t know, it just seemed _right_. So I guess I should be the one apologizing here, considering I was the asshole in this situation.” He scratched the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed over actually _talking_ for once, and I sighed. I felt relieved, almost; there were still questions, but it took a lot off of my shoulders.

 

“You weren’t an asshole, you were just… _Derek_. Stubborn, kind of insensitive, and a total ass in the long run, but we wouldn’t have you any other way. Plus, I can understand what all you did…it just doesn’t explain why you were such an asshole this morning, though.” I bit my lip, realizing I spoke without thinking about my word choice, and mentally swore—I _seriously_ need to work on that mind-to-mouth filter.

 

“Sorry?” Derek rolled his eyes at me and shook his head, clearly exasperated. _Just like the good ‘ol days._

 

“Wow, yeah, okay Stiles,” Derek motioned for me to follow him, completely in his nature to just boss me around, “great way to put it. Good talk.” I scampered after him, per usual, until I was at his side as we wandered back around the house and onto the rear porch, stopping there before heading back inside.

 

“Oh please, just answer the question and don’t be such a baby.” Derek scowled at me some before finally caving, huffing out a sigh.

 

“I was confused. You were angry to see me but willing to take care of me and you were even hospitable, and that really bothered me but I didn’t know how to say it. I’m really sorry about that, too—I shouldn’t have acted the way I did, it was pretty terrible considering all of what you did for me. I’m really thankful for it; if I had been you, I wouldn’t have done anything.” It was almost surreal hearing Derek apologize for once, even _thanking_ me, and I nodded dumbly along with him.

 

I led him towards the doors back into the house, holding the door open for him. We both shuffled back into the kitchen, staring at it awkwardly before I spoke up.

 

“You know…a part of me was happy you were back. Just don’t fuck it the moment next time by being mortally wounded, alright?” Derek huffed a quiet laugh and nodded along as we made out way back to the living room. I stared at the pack for a second, watching them all fit together like elaborate puzzle pieces, and looked over at Derek to see him staring at me with a soft expression, an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face.

 

“I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably zone in a little on Elizabeth's mother and what she meant to Stiles, but I make no promises considering it isn't even in draft form yet. Look forward to the next update within this month, I might actually have some time left over to write it!


	4. Dinner "Party"...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE!!!!! I've been very busy with school and life, so I haven't much time to write nowadays! uvu;; The draft for chapter 5 is almost complete, and I did make promises about Elizabeth's mom, so watch out for it within this week or later. Keep in mind that I didn't have much time for editing (as I've stated, I'm quite busy), so I apologize for any silly mistakes or spelling problems! If you notice any, feel free to _gently_ tell me in the comments or w/ever.

It’s safe to say that grocery shopping hadn’t _always_ been Elizabeth’s favorite thing, but she always became a willing participant once bribery came along; 10 more minutes of screaming her head off outside, an extra piece of candy after dinner, forcing Scott to join in on ‘Grocery Shopping with the Stilinskis’—whatever she could weasel out of me during our desperate tango to get out the door on schedule, she took with greedy little hands.

 

So, considering her massive intake of junk food for the past few days (moving was hard on scheduled mealtimes, ok?), I tried the play time route and was immediately rejected. She didn’t even let me finish the candy offer and took to running and screaming around the house half naked when I offered letting her pick out a special snack at the store.

 

I didn’t _cave_ when I called Scott, I simply chose to pick my battles wisely—especially when she can outrun me and throws wicked tantrums that could leave me with stitches if we weren't careful.

 

Since I was running on fumes from last night—evidence that paperwork was invented by the _devil_ and research for the pack sucked—and Lydia and I didn’t think to stock my kitchen with enough coffee to supply an entire pack plus extended members coming and going to scent up the new house with _very_ little coffee to spare, I didn’t feel like taking any chances. If Scott laughed at my logic, I swear I didn’t threaten his livelihood in front of my young, impressionable daughter who had the tendency to repeat _everything she has ever heard_.

 

\---

 

I stilled Elizabeth’s wriggling shoulders for the umpteenth time at the meat counter, trying to find the cheapest ground meat that didn’t taste like cardboard while keeping the world’s most rambunctious 3-year-old in the cart at all times while her other adult supervisor was off in the produce section. Elizabeth was humming some song from _some_ Disney movie and the butcher was starting to eye me funnily from behind the counter as I poked at different cuts of meat, wondering if they were as far from expiring as their labels said they were.

 

Elizabeth leaned backwards and grinned up at me, her head resting under my arm and against my ribcage. She definitely had the Stilinski doe-eyes, but everything else was her mother's—right down to those dirty-blonde curls and her mischievous smile. I tickled her side, fighting my own bubbly laughter at her squealing giggles, and picked up the least threatening looking package of ground turkey from the meat cooler. We cruised along the store, picking up Scott and assorted fruits, veggies, and herbs from the produce section. I finally let Elizabeth roam freely, knowing Scott would help me keep an eye on her while I shopped.

 

I should have known, however, that keeping Elizabeth out of mischief would be short lived.

 

I was browsing the yogurts and cream cheeses—completely immersed in sale prices because of a silly thing called _budgeting_ —when something heavy and large bumped into me, the sounds of Elizabeth growling playfully coming from behind me as I almost toppled straight into the dairy freezer. A strong arm wrapped itself securely around my waist before I could destroy anything and I began to turn around to thank whoever saved me from destruction as I stood, choking on my words when I saw who exactly almost crushed me a moment ago.

 

Low and fucking behold, Derek Hale's muscled, sportswear clad chest and shoulders were in my face  _again_ —not that I wasn't complaining too much,  _just look at him, Christ_ —with my child giggling from where she was draped over his shoulder. Derek's smile was wide and playful, as strange as 'Derek' and 'playful' sound together, and I watched as he masterfully lifted Elizabeth up off of his shoulders and into the air before delicately placing her feet-first on the floor. She scampered up to the yogurt selection, picking out a package of honey-banana Greek yogurts and holding them up to Derek. Derek smiled and thanked her, tossing them into his basket, and turned to me. His face turned a little guilty and he rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Look, uh, sorry about that—”

 

“No, I'm sorry about Elizabeth, she doesn't know her own strength yet—”

 

“What? Oh, no, that's fine, I was just wondering if you were okay? I hit you pretty hard—”

 

Well, you  _are_ a freight truck of a man.

 

“Pssssh, _that_? I'm fine! I just hope Elizabeth didn't cause you any trouble, I mean she was with Scott last and god knows where _he_ went—”

 

“–I helped Derek pick out some yogurt instead!” We both looked down at Elizabeth, who was smiling up us cheekily, and I thanked my stars for having a chatty small child to break up awkward conversations.

 

“That was very sweet of you Elizabeth, but where's Uncle Scott? I thought you were getting breadcrumbs for the meatballs with him?” Derek sighed exasperatedly in recognition, his brow crinkling, and gave me a knowing look. I rolled me eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, an immediate headache coming on.

 

“He ran into Isaac, didn't he?” Elizabeth nodded, Derek allowing her to start hanging off of him like a little monkey.

 

“He shoved her onto you, _didn't he_?” Derek shrugged, not bothered, I guess, and nodded along with her.

 

“ _Did he leave with him?_ ” Derek's brow furrowed in concentration and he knelt down next to Elizabeth.

 

“Do you want to help find your Uncle Scott with me? It'll be easy.” Derek was all warm smiles n' sunshine, a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and Elizabeth nodded ecstatically—she _loves_ doing werewolf stuff, why wouldn't she agree?

 

They both scented the air, Elizabeth's little nose twitching comically. The two looked at each other and she shook her head tentatively, brightening when Derek smiled and congratulated her with a celebratory pat on the back. Derek rose back up to full height and looked over at me disappointingly.

 

“The nose knows.” Derek said, resigned, but gave Elizabeth a proud, crinkled smile; she giggled in return and I tried not to melt from the cuteness.

 

I sighed and nodded along, holding my hand out for Elizabeth to join me.

 

“We'll see how happy he is to miss out on a home cooked meal tonight, then.” I helped Elizabeth back into the cart, turning back to Derek.

 

“Elizabeth and I were _supposed_ to have a 'pack strategy'-dinner with Lydia and Scott tonight— _however_ , after taking his rudeness into account, he'll have to cancel with us.”

 

Derek snorted, a smile playing at his lips, and grabbed a small container of salmon and chive cream cheese.  _Ew._ I fiddled with the cart handle, my stomach feeling a bit strange as I weighed my options. I looked over at Derek, who  _appeared_ to be comparing prices between yogurts, and licked my lips nervously.

 

“You know, if you're _okay_ with it, would you mind maybe joining us? For dinner, I mean? It's a pretty big meal and I highly doubt that just me, Elizabeth, Lydia could finish it on our own, and you're completely welcome to come—come _over_ , that is. _Wow_. I mean, If you want to? To come over—or, well, unless you want to, uh—wow, forget I said that, _Jesus_.” I winced, probably sounding like a total dunce, and looked at Derek hopefully.

 

By the end of that completely traumatizing monologue that I can only  _hope_ my daughter wasn't paying attention to, he had turned towards me with a combination of confusion and embarrassment on his awe-struck face. He was standing there,  _gaping_ , with his eyes trained on my mouth and I just—I licked my lips (it's a nervous habit, ok?) and stared back at him, watching carefully as he blinked and looked back up into my eyes.

 

“Well, if you think it's alright, then...” Derek cleared his throat, eyes darting around nervously and cheeks slightly flushed, “yeah, ok. I can come over for dinner tonight, I just need some time to drop Cora off at the airport before then.”

 

“Oh, cool, sure—wait, _airport_?” Derek smiled, a devastatingly charming look that should be _illegal_ , and nodded.

 

“Yeah, she's been living in South America for the past few years. When we had, uh...taken a break, we backpacked all the way to Brazil where she had been staying before the whole 'Alpha Pack' incedent. She's heading back there by plane, obviously, this evening at around 5:30?” It all sort of fit, loose ends now tying themselves, and I smiled as I nodded along.

 

“Wow, Brazil? It must be beautiful down there, huh 'Liz? It's on the ocean!” Elizabeth gasped behind me and stared at Derek, waiting for some kind of conformation. He grinned and nodded at her, walking with us to the bread isle.

 

“Yeah, Cora's been living in this city on the beach. We watched sea turtles lay their eggs there before, it's really cool.” Elizabeth made some kind of flustered noise before she grabbed my hand and stared up at me, completely amazed.

 

“Daddy, he isn't lying!” We both laughed at her awe-struck whisper, Derek regaling her with stories about swimming with dolphins and scuba diving with Cora in Brazil to her squealing joy. We parted at the pasta and soup isle with me telling him what time to show up, and I felt surprisingly light as Elizabeth and I checked out and made our way home.

 

All I needed to do was meet with Lydia for lunch, and everything should go according to plan.

 

\---

 

Lunch with Lydia has always been an... _experience_ . One that I will come to endure way more often than usual now that I'm back in town and will most likely have to mix in with Elizabeth as well.

 

“So, dinner tonight; what are we having?” Lydia was cutting up a piece of salmon and salad for Elizabeth to try, focused completely on the little girl next to her but paying rapt attention to me at the same time. I crunched through my salad, plopping all of my cherry tomatoes on Elizabeth's plate, and swallowed thoughtfully.

 

“I found this really neat recipe for these Greek meatballs that I thought we could try? Usually they're made with lamb or beef, but I thought I'd make it a bit healthier with some ground chicken and turkey. We'll have those with tzatziki sauce and a Greek salad and, if you're _nice_ , we can have a glass of wine with dinner.” Lydia hummed, looking up at me with an excited smile, and turned back to Elizabeth with her bite of salad.

 

“Are Scott and Isaac going to be joining us this evening or no?” I snorted at her, telling her about what happened earlier today at the grocery store.

 

“Wait, so he saw Isaac _and_ Derek at the store? Then, after finding them _both_ at the store, puts Derek in charge of a 3-year-old he barely knows?” I shrugged, knowing how Scott thinks and how stupid his decisions are most of the time.

 

“He's got his mind on the booty, what can I say? It's a dude thing, but mix _two_ guys with that? Wow.” Elizabeth paused, staring at me with a crinkled brow before speaking.

 

“Daddy...” she paused thoughtfully, the little gears in her head visibly turning, “why would uncle Scott think about Uncle Isaac's butt?” I sat in shock, trying to think of some bullshit excuse off of the top of my head as Lydia choked on her water.

 

“Well, you see, Elizabeth, when two people, uh, love each other _very much_ , they think about...babies! And Uncle Scott and Uncle Isaac want—um, they want...babies?” I looked over at Lydia for reassurance, but she was beyond help; her face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

 

“Um, Lyds? Throw a dog a bone here?” Lydia gasped and cleared her throat, nodding her head jerkily as she tried to gain her composure.

 

“Yes, you could think of it as something like that. They just think of each other often, that's what daddy means, honey.” I really need to get better about this 'watching what you say around your small children' thing. Lydia cleared her throat, turning back to me.

 

“So I take it that it will just be you, me, and jellybean?” She looked at Elizabeth out of the corner of her eye and smiled, Elizabeth grinning back at her.

 

“Well, you see—I sort of invited Derek to join us for dinner? He said he would come over after he dropped Cora off at the airport.” Lydia tilted her head to the side and my stomach flipped; the only con to being friends with Lydia is that you could know anything and everything about her, but never know what she was thinking.

 

“Gosh, now that I think about it, Jackson wanted to have dinner this evening at that nice restaurant I told you about. You know, that one a town over? I completely forgot about it, I'm sorry; I don't think I'll be able to make it to dinner this evening.” She had this smug smirk on her face and my stomach completely dropped. Elizabeth perked up from her side of the table, food completely forgotten.

 

“Auntie Lydia, you mean the one with the big fish tank?” Elizabeth was practically vibrating in her seat and I knew _exactly_ which restaurant Lydia was talking about.

 

“Oh, yes, that's the one.” She was staring me down, daring me to say _one word_ , and I felt a full-body tremble of pure terror.

 

“You see, the owners, Veronique and Jacques—whom Jackson and I know _very_ well—collect various species of tropical fish; I was thinking that maybe, now that both of you are back in town, Elizabeth, Jackson, and I could go shopping, maybe she could sleep over, have _dinner_ together...” here it comes, the 'I am Lydia Martin, bitch; nobody says no to me' one-liner that gets me _every_ time, “ _my treat._ ”

 

_No_ , she  _couldn't_ do this to me; not now,  _please_ .

 

Elizabeth was babbling excitedly about jellyfish and seahorses, Lydia looking like the cat that caught the canary, and I knew I was completely defeated.

 

“Yeah, sure; why not? What do you think, Elizabeth? Do you want to go have fun with Uncle Jackson and Aunt Lydia?” I could _cry_ from the idea of awkwardly sitting alone with Derek 'Man on Steel Cheek Bones' Hale, much less in the privacy of my own home.

 

Did I mention I would be  _alone_ with  _him_ ? When my 3-year-old invited him?

 

Elizabeth's chatter to Lydia was muffled by the loud thumping of my heart, my vision tunneling, and I tried to count backwards from ten to calm my breathing,  _anything_ . Elizabeth glanced at me, her smile wide and happy, and something clicked; overcoming this anxiety seemed so simple when looking at her, at those silly gaps in her baby teeth and rosy, freckled cheeks...just her happiness boosted my confidence through the roof— _I made that_ , that little angel giggling and smiling at the Devil in Prada, and I could suddenly breathe again. Just the happiness of this little girl made the impossible seem at least worth trying, and that's all that matters.

 

Let Lydia play whatever game she wants to; so long as Elizabeth has fun and is  _happy_ , I'll be fine. On our way home in the car she sang along with the music on the radio and when I helped her pack an overnight bag, I tried not to dance in place when I saw her sneak one my old t-shirts in with her treasured 'Rainy' the stuffed wolf.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we'll cover awkward dinner dates(???), the effects of alcohol, and Elizabeth's seemingly absent mother, Jenna. This next update should be within the week, I thank you all for you immense patience and kind words/kudos! uvu


	5. ...Wine and (Un)Expected Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sO THIS IS DISGUSTINGLY RUSHED, EXTRA CORNY, AND (MOSTLY??) UNEDITED SO. It may or may not completely suck, I'm terribly sorry if it does, but hey!! At least I FINALLY updated this baby, please leave helpful reviews/feedback! c:

I was wrong—I am _not_ fine—and it seems I overestimated my abilities to survive this situation.

Dinner, cooked. State of home, on point. Everything else, however, is destined to fail. For one, I invited Derek to have dinner with me and two other people because there would be a massive amount of food. Thankfully for me, leftovers and extras can be packed away for lunches and backup dinners when I can't get home on time to cook for Elizabeth. However, Derek is expecting _two other fucking people_ that would be integral for a buffer between us. But now?

 _Nothing_. Just me and Derek. Eating in while my daughter spends the night at my friend's house. Alone. Together. Am I on crazy pills or does this look like a set up for us to fuck?

_'Ah, yes, Derek! Come in, it'll just be us tonight...Elizabeth is at Lydia's, which gives us some **alone** time to **talk**.'_

I'm probably just being paranoid, but a guy like me worries; it's my job to read between the lines during some situations, ok, and this is reads hot sex in blinking bold letters. I decide to change clothes instead of the hoodie and sweatpants combo that I left the house in, opting for a pair of jeans and my favorite comfortable gray henley (one that oddly reminded me of something Derek used to wear when we were younger), and felt a little more confident. I pushed my sleeves up and trotted back down stairs to the kitchen so I could start setting the bar for two and get the food ready to serve, almost jumping out of my skin when somebody knocked on the door. _Breathe_ , Stiles—it's not like he's going to rip your throat out with his teeth. Or unbutton your pants with them _not that you want him to_ , since this is just a casual dinner between two very good, close friends.

“Sorry, sorry! I'm coming, hold on!” I scrambled through the empty dining room and living room, noticing how quiet the house was without Elizabeth, and opened the door to let Derek in.

Derek, who looked devastatingly handsome as usual—are all of his shirts that tight? _Is that wine_? Good god, he's perfect—we need to open those immediately—holy shit, it's wolfsbane laced, I'm so okay with that, bless his frigid little heart. I ushered Derek in, who looked a bit confused at how peaceful the house was without Elizabeth around, and I sighed.

“Sorry the house is so quiet; I don't know what Lydia's playing at _this_ time, but she and Jackson took Elizabeth to some fancy restaurant for the evening instead of enjoying my cooking.” Derek snorted, following me into the kitchen, and I set one of the bottles down on the counter so I could rummage through the drawers for a bottle opener.

“That's nothing to feel sorry for,” Derek chuckled as he reached past me into another drawer, plucking out a bright red wine opener, and set to work on the bottle in front of him, “I think everyone could benefit from an evening without Lydia sometimes.” I laughed as I put out some wine glasses for the two of us and set to finishing the salad.

“I can drink to that.” I thought of Lydia's smug face and soured just a little bit, but the thought of how much fun she and Elizabeth were probably having at Jackson's expense made forgiveness that much sweeter.

We settled down at the kitchen bar with my homemade Greek food (he better like that salad, I almost chopped my damn arm off slicing those olives) and laughed about Scott's dopiness and Jackson's probably now aching pocketbook, and I felt so...at home. Everything just felt right. Sitting here, cracking open a second bottle of ridiculously good wine that Isaac probably picked out in Derek's nervous haste, _laughing_ with _Derek_...it through me for a loop but gave me a sense of contentedness, seeing him relaxed and smiling as he eats a home-cooked meal compared to the tense pack dinner almost a week before. Just seeing him relaxed helped me relax into the warm, almost intimate atmosphere we always seemed to carry between us. By the time we finished our second bottle, which really was quite good, _especially_ for a white wine, I was a bit more than buzzed and Derek was slower, looser— _definitely_ a well-laced wine.

I don't exactly know the how bit, but we ended up lounging on the couch, my feet in his lap, just...talking. Which was great and pretty insightful, by the way; apparently Aiden, who has been dating Cora for a while now according to Derek, went back to Brazil with the younger Hale much to my surprise—I mean, he did almost beat her half to death over the head with a dumbbell and everything—and will be returning with her and the rest of their pack to visit next month, which Derek, being the social butterfly he is, is just ecstatic about. He filled me in on the new family of hunters that moved into town to work with Allison and the vampire incident during his first week here (as if kitsunes, banshees, and werewolves weren't enough for Beacon Hills), which almost got him a bullet in the head due to Scott's astounding inexperience with guns. I told him about Los Angeles, the pack there, and even about Elizabeth's training—he was apparently supposed to help Scott with that, _another_ fact that was left out by my favorite Alpha. We were lounging in comfortable silence with my arm slung over the back of the couch and Derek's hand cupped over my knee, and I for the first time in a _long_ time actually felt at home. Derek cleared his throat, catching my attention, and lifted one of his brows expectantly; I shrugged, suddenly thankful for our ability to talk without really speaking.

“Now I don't want to sound like an ass or anything, but where is Elizabeth's mom? I'm just curious, nobody wanted to say anything about her. Like, is she still in the picture or..?” My stomach twisted nervously and I chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to cover the sad slope in my grin.

So much for our 'moment'.

“ _Oh_. Well, she definitely isn't in the picture—it's just 'Liz and I. Jenna, Elizabeth's mother...she, uh—she passed away two years ago. She was a born werewolf and some hunters...they caught her scent when we were in Los Angeles, Liz was still a baby. It was a miracle they didn't get her too, really; I was able to intervene in time but not fast enough, I guess.” Derek swallowed hard, his hand now wrapped tightly around my ankle.

“I'm so sorry, Stiles, I didn't—I shouldn't have asked, I really am sorry.” His mouth was a tight, worried line and his eyes carried a certain sadness; Jenna, like Derek's family and many other werewolves, had been lost to a hunter too.

“No, it's okay. I...haven't really told too many people about the hunter bit, only the pack; even then, they only know what Scott told them. Jenna wasn't really pack and definitely not the 'friendly neighborhood werewolf' type, but she was a good woman—she was...she was a good mother, while it lasted. It's kind of funny...Jenna would always joke about just 'showing up' in Beacon Hills and meeting the pack, my parents... _you_. She never got the chance, but it was the thought that counted, right?” I ignored the misty sting behind my eyes and cleared my throat, retracting my ankle and standing up.

“I think I need more alcohol, how about you?” Derek's mouth opened and closed as if he was about apologize again but thought better on it, nodding as he stood to follow me into the kitchen.

I cleared my throat nervously as I fished the liquor cabinet's key from a basket on top of the fridge, sighing in relief when the cool bite of metal brushed against my palm. I had to stand on my toes to reach the top shelf I kept the whiskey on and tried not to snort at Derek when he chuckled and grabbed it for me, gently placing it on the counter in front of me. I turned around a bit to quickly and smushed my face into Derek's collar when the dizziness almost toppled me over, snorting into the hollow of his collar bone; he smelled like pine and rainwater but sweeter and just so...I don't fuckin' know, _Derek_. I kept a hand on his waist once I regained my balance as I grabbed two glasses from the cabinets next to his head, pressing my chest against his when the reach proved to be a bit too far. Derek placed a steadying hand on the small of my back, rocking forward to support me as fumbled to reach. Either I was shrinking or these cabinets were climbing up onto the ceiling to keep my whiskey away from me. Maybe I shouldn't drink that whiskey, because I'm apparently shit-faced if the state of my depth perception was telling me anything. I huffed in resignation, tiredly slumping against Derek's body; since when was my face this close to his? I don't remember being this tall, maybe he was shrinking...I felt Derek shift beneath me, his hands wrapped around my hips in support, and I looked up at his flushed cheeks and dilated eyes. Everything sort of clicked and I finally realized how intimate our position really was, trying to fight the heat slowly creeping up my neck as my eyes dragged over disheveled shirts and my legs _straddled over one of Derek's_ , my groin conveniently pressed against his hip. I tried to reign in the gasp that forced it's way up my throat when Derek shifted beneath me, one of those perfect lips carefully bitten by a set of beautifully white—and comically rabbit-like—teeth, and I felt something rumble deep within me; there was a current of electricity running through my hips and up and down my spine where Derek held me in place, a hot iron ball rolling around my belly at the sight of those ridiculously beautiful eyes.

“I, uh,” I swallowed on a dry, suddenly parched throat, trying to figure out if I was nervous or relieved of our position against one another, “I guess I'll have to call a rain check on that drink, huh? There are better things we could do though, you know, without whiskey.” Smooth like chunky peanut butter, Stilinski—you're great with words, you know that?

Derek licked his lips, probably as cotton-mouthed as me but definitely not as embarrassed, and nodded dumbly—either I was the best pick-up artist _ever_ or Derek was secretly just as stupid as I was, who knows. What I do know, however, was that I was a horny drunk and the way he was rubbing his thumbs over my hipbones was amazing, especially with how his leg gave just that much friction with every breath he took. Given our history of ridiculous UST and the way he was looking between my eyes and lips right now, maybe gravity did us a favor and finally kicked in the way we've always wanted it to—one second we were awkwardly pressed up against each other and the next he was nosing his way up my jawline, nibbling and kissing the corners of my lips. When it finally happened, though, it was everything I had probably hoped it to be all those years ago; his lips were as supple as they looked and tasted like good wine and fucking sunshine, and maybe I did break down just a little inside when one of those warm, strong hands ran up my ribs, pulling a little of my shirt with it. It felt like a gust of wind and whipped its way through my ribs, little sparks of electricity crawling across my chest and stomach, running down my arms to my palms where they were firmly planted on Derek's jaw and cheeks. It felt like pushing together like ends of a pair of magnets, all at once repelling yet drawn together by some strange outside force. When he pulled away, flushed and out of breath, it felt like I had lost a large chunk of myself; everything was suddenly cold and empty without him—as codependent and crazy that sounded.

Forgive my corny soap-opera lines, but it felt like two halves finally found a way to make itself whole; we probably looked so strange pressed together as closely as we were, just staring with glassy eyes and breathing each other's air. Derek kept his hands on my ribs to steady me as I slowly slid off the counter, allowing me to lead him around the corner to the stairs and up the stairs, pausing behind me at the threshold to my room.

“Stiles...what are we doing? Why now?” He sounded strained, tentative.

I pulled my shirt off over my head, pulling on one of my nightshirts and then dropping my pants so I could at least think comfortably—I can't help that I'm still a little too tipsy to have serious, adult conversations while wearing tight pants.

“I...I honestly don't know, Derek.” I ignored the hurt in his stance, his shoulders squared at me as I pulled back the covers of my bed to get in.

Finally situated in bed, I let myself look at him head-on. He seemed so cautious and confused, not knowing whether to rush toward comfort or flee to the loneliness of an empty house, miles away from my warm bed.

“Then why am I still here, Stiles?” He sardonic, of _course_ he did—it's his greatest defense mechanism.

“Because I want you to be here. I wouldn't just let you kiss me, Derek, much less invite you further into my home, if I didn't want you to. For once in your life just take a lesson from me and turn your brain off for a minute so you can enjoy what's in the moment instead of thinking 20 paces ahead.” It even sounded a little ridiculous coming from me, a little worse than I thought it would, and I laughed a little at my own advice.

When was the last time you let yourself stop thinking to “ _enjoy what's in the moment_ ,”, Stilinski? When Jenna told you the _exact same thing_ in that seedy bar, a willing distraction from how shitty you felt?

“I sure as shit know we deserve at least some kind of happiness looking back on the hell we've been through, Derek. Just let yourself have _something_ for once instead of running away from it.” Derek sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to look at me directly.

What did he think I was offering? He was always the toughest to read, especially when it mattered most. He was silent but not brooding, probably thinking too hard again.

“Then what do you want from me?” Derek was quiet, still not looking directly at me, tension and mistrust reading all throughout his posture—wait, did he think I wanted _a one night stand_?

Backtrack, Stillinski, before you further destroy and confuse this relationship even more.

“Holy _shit_ , Derek, I don't want anything from you, I don't even want to fuck you right now,” He finally looked at me, still so confused at for once not being used, “all I want is for you to relax with me, lie down—I just want to share what we have going on for once instead of running away from _this_. We deserve something nice, Derek, even if it only lasts for a minute. _I want you_ _for you_ , not to feel better about myself; nothing could make me any more sure than this, ok, and I don't want to leave whatever this is in the dust again, not if we could make _something_ out of it.” I don't know who I struck more, me or Derek; I felt like I had just punched myself in the gut, but his face—his face lit up and fell all at once, reaching out for me just as much as I was for him.

That rushing feeling flowed through my veins again and Derek was in my still new, almost foreign space. I helped to pull off his shirt, unbuckle his pants...he was left with nothing on but dark boxers and his beautifully bare chest; he was so vulnerable despite looking and acting so tough, always trying to be the strong one even when he felt misplaced and alone. I ran my fingers across the sharp planes of his face, smoothing whatever worried crease I could find and breathed in his shaking exhales. I could feel his fear and for a moment, I wondered who felt it more.

“I don't want to loose you, man, not like last time,” I was mumbling into his collar, my drunken bravado already faded and leaving me tired and in desperate need of a glass of water, “I don't want to find out we could never make this work without even trying, because we've dealt quite a number on each other; I _need_ to know that we can make this work, because I'm not running away from you Derek—not anymore.” Derek squeezed my hip and I longed to feel his skin against mine, to try and savor however much time he would give me to worship a body I had had a little too many walk-ins on to casually dream about.

Derek pressed his face against my collarbone and sighed, his eyelashes tickling against my skin; was he always this pleasantly warm? It made me want to curl up as close to him as humanly possible, maybe catch some sleep with those strong arms wrapped around me or soothe the tension Derek always seemed to carry in his shoulders. Derek had those hunched shoulders, that tight grip...he was always so worried about something, but never so openly.

“I'm scared, Stiles. I'm fucking scared of this—it feels...different from anything I've had with somebody, I don't even know how to say it, _shit_. You scare the hell out of me and you don't even know it.” I wrapped a hand around the back of Derek's neck when I heard the nearly undetectable tremor in his voice, anchoring him against me.

 _Derek Hale_ scared of _me_? Has he _seen_ me—ok, well, of _course_ he's seen me, we were humping like 15-year-olds' not even 30 minutes ago—but Derek is, like, _the_ definition of muscular, you'd see his fucking picture next to it in the dictionary! I'm just...Stiles; I mean, I look like an overgrown 13 year old with more muscles and the propensity to grow hair on my balls while lumberjack Derek apparently tore down then rebuilt the Hale house _by himself_. How could someone so powerful and handsome (not everyone has it, but Derek's got it all) be so frightened of some lesser dude wanting to be the little spoon? Derek was surprisingly shy, selfconscious, tender...he was the complete opposite person of what he had tried so hard to portray himself as and I couldn't help but want to wrap him up with all of my being to reassure him that everything would be fine, we could get through this like we always did.

I lifted his face up to mine, lazily sucking his bottom lip into my mouth to worry between my teeth, swallowing his groan. Rough thumb pads circled my hip bones, groin bucking down against mine. I stroked his jaw, running a hand through his hair until his rough kisses melted into something more slow and gentle. He was panting against the corner of my mouth, one hand squeezing my ass through thin boxers, and I pulled his forehead down to rest against mine. Everything was electric and almost painful but beautiful, and I finally realized what Derek meant; that delicious surge of something that coursed through me every time my skin brushed against Derek's, how his presence changed the entire atmosphere—he always did. Everything was moving way too fast but not fast enough at the same time, and I didn't even know how to feel about this. Derek pressed up against me, our bodies clicking together in all the right places, how his hands left my skin scorched and sensitive to the touch...it was thrilling, confusing, _amazing_ —it felt good to be able to put my trust in someone, to be able to trust _Derek_.

I felt my hands wander back up to his face, just barely touching my fingertips to such delicate yet devastatingly strong features; he had his moments, sure, but Derek had been our anchor when the world became a little too normal. He was always the shoulder to rest on that could probably use some rest itself. He trusted even when the world has repeatedly tried to strip him of the ability and I was honored to have his faith. I kissed him once last time, threading my finger's through his hair and curling us both on our sides, tangling my leg's with his; it was a little terrifying that the only thought that sprang into my head was that I wanted this every night for the rest of my life instead of asking myself what I was doing over and over again.

I nuzzled as close as I could against Derek's chest and hips, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his bare chest. We were stuck in this constant peace before the storm, but I couldn't even find it in me to hate that trembling rush I felt run through my gut when he ran his hand down my spine to rest on the small of my back.

“If it helps, you scare the hell out of me too, Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing for the next chapter tbh, stay in-touch for updates! uvu

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at lemongays.tumblr.com


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